


Even Bats Get Lonely

by dexstarr



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: interhouse_fest, F/M, Friendship, Good Severus Snape, Het, Kidnapping, Loneliness, Out of Character, Post-Hogwarts, Severus Snape Lives, life after death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 06:44:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11595096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dexstarr/pseuds/dexstarr
Summary: Can one weekend change everything?





	Even Bats Get Lonely

**Author's Note:**

> _Harry Potter_ is not mine and no profit is made from this work. Written for the LJ community [interhouse-fest](http://interhouse-fest.livejournal.com/). Event: 2010 Interhouse Fest. Prompt: Post DH, Snape is alive and in hiding — he kidnaps Hermione for one weekend saying he wants some companionship — will she decide to stay with him — or return to her life after the weekend?

Hermione stared at the faded and peeling beige paint on the ceiling, her mouth twisted in grimace. Anger was rolling off her so intensely that she was surprised Snape couldn’t feel it in the sitting room below.  
  
He had  _kidnapped_  her. Taken her from Diagon Alley — just before she was to leave on the first holiday she’d taken since the war — and forcefully Side-Along Apparated her to his dingy house. Taken her wand from her so she couldn’t leave — she’d already tried to Apparate but had failed, and she wasn’t fool enough to walk alone in the deserted neighborhood he lived in.  
  
What irked her most, though, was why Snape said he’d taken her.  
  
Apparently, Severus Snape was  _lonely._  
  
It had taken all of her control to keep her jaw from dropping in disbelief; instead, she’d bolted up the creaking stairs and flopped on the first bed she’d found. Never mind that it was probably his, judging from the black robe her feet were resting on. Hermione glanced at the foot of the bed, and her scowl lifted when she saw the dirt her trainers had left on his robe. Served him right.  
  
So what if he was lonely? Why had he taken her? There were plenty of others he could have chosen — others who actually liked him. Although Hermione had always tried to get Harry and Ron to show Snape the respect he deserved as a professor, she certainly wasn’t fond of the man. He had never been kind to her.  
  
_Snape looked coldly at her, pointedly ignoring how her front teeth had grown past her chin. “I see no difference,” he said with a sneer, and tears filled her eyes from his cruelty._  
  
Hermione pushed the horrid memory from her mind — she wasn’t so insecure anymore that she could be wounded by the mere thought of his caustic words. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked at the ceiling again, determined to remain in this room until the end of the weekend. He’d said he would give her back her wand on Sunday morning — of course she would have lost her hotel booking in Paris by then, but she could make up some excuse. By Sunday afternoon she’d be sitting in some little café on the Champs-Élysées, eating a croissant and people watching.  
  
She whiled away the next few hours with pleasant thoughts of Paris and her long-planned trip. Hermione had been hesitant about taking so much time — a month — off from work at the Ministry, but she knew she needed a break. The breakup with Ron had left her snippy and irritable at work, and her Department Head had finally told her to take an extended holiday to ‘clear her head.’  
  
When her stomach started to growl, reminding her that it had been hours since breakfast, Hermione firmly ignored it. She wasn’t about to ask  _Snape_  for something to eat.  
  


*     *     *

  
  
“Prof—Snape.”  
  
Safely hidden behind curtains of black hair, Snape half-sneered, half-smiled at how Hermione’s tongue had almost slipped. “Yes?”  
  
“I — I’m hungry.”  
  
He looked at her over the top of his book, jerking his head to push back the hair covering his face. “Look in the kitchen, there might be something there you can make.”  
  
Hermione’s jaw did drop this time, and she sputtered, “You  _kidnapped_  me, and now you’re telling me to make my own food? I thought you wanted company, but you’re acting like I’m a burden.” She punched one hand into the other, trying to control her irritation, and said, “Why don’t you just let me leave now if this is how you’re going to act?”  
  
“I may have been a bit hasty,” Snape admitted slowly, “I’m not used to having … guests.” He stood, went into the kitchen that was just off the sitting room, and returned with a couple of brightly colored papers before Hermione had time to blink. “These are menus for some local places, I suggest Italian.” He handed the papers to Hermione; her mouth was still open at the thought of  _Snape_  ordering take-out.  
  
“Er, right.” She took the menus and paged through them absently. “How do you—”  
  
Snape pulled his wand from his robes and said, “ _Accio_  phone.” A slim, black cordless phone flew through the air and landed in his waiting hand. Hermione gaped even more at the image of a Hogwarts professor with such a Muggle object; she had forgotten that Snape had been raised in a half-Muggle home.  
  
“Right,” she said again weakly. “I’ll take — er, the fettuccine alfredo, then.” With the air of a man long accustomed to bachelorhood, Snape rang the Italian delivery service and ordered dinner for the both of them.  
  


*     *     *

  
  
“I still don’t understand — why me?” Hermione asked after swallowing a mouthful of pasta. “There are others — I’m sure Professor McGonagall would have been happy to visit.”  
  
“Minerva would have wanted me to return to Hogwarts, which is not something I wish to do. I did not expect to live, and I will not waste the time I have been granted with enduring the idiocies of a fresh crop of dunderheads,” Snape said dryly, and Hermione laughed in spite of herself.  
  
“She approached me, you know. All of us, actually — she wanted Harry to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, Ron to be the Flying instructor, and for me to take up Transfiguration so she could concentrate on being Headmistress.” Hermione looked down at her plate and said quietly, “I wanted to be a teacher ever since I was a little girl, but when she asked me … I just couldn’t.”  
  
Snape Summoned a bottle of elf-made wine from the kitchen and poured glasses for the both of them. Hermione clutched her glass, somewhat happy to have something else to concentrate on other than her plate and the man sitting across from her. She was still astonished that she was having dinner with her former Potions professor, let alone that she hadn’t hexed him into tomorrow for kidnapping her.  
  
“Why couldn’t you?” Snape asked, his voice soft, but not the deadly soft that signaled trouble.  
  
Hermione tore her gaze from the bloodred liquid in her wineglass and looked at him. She was surprised to see an unfamiliar expression in his black eyes. “After the war … well, I’d seen too much, done too much, to be content teaching at Hogwarts. Maybe when I’m older….”  
  
Snape nodded. “You understand more than you realize, Miss Granger. After my own role in the war, especially after the last year as Headmaster, there was simply no way I could return to Hogwarts. And then there’s the matter of the dunderheads, of course.”  
  
“Of course, and it’s Hermione — I’d say you crossed the boundaries of formality when you forced me from Diagon Alley this morning,” she said wryly.  
  
Inclining his head, Snape said, “I do apologize for that. I didn’t think you’d come willingly if I said I wanted company. Even bats get lonely, you know.” He took a sip of wine and shrugged his shoulders slightly.  
  
“Bats? Oh.  _Oh._ ” Hermione’s mind flashed to the references she and her classmates had made to Snape as the ‘bat of the dungeons;’ reminded of how he had swooped down on them, his black cloak billowing behind him like the wings of a bat. She gulped down her wine and almost choked when she realized that Severus Snape had just made a joke. “Maybe you should have asked anyway,” she said, coughing.  
  
“Maybe I should have,” he acknowledged, refilling his glass. When he held the bottle towards her, Hermione immediately shook her head. “But then I didn’t expect this evening to pass so pleasantly, so perhaps my methods are fine as they are,” he said silkily, arching a black eyebrow at her.  
  
“I was on my way to Paris,” she said irritably, remembering her earlier sulking in his bedroom. “I’d been planning this trip for months! My itinerary will be off by three days now, and—”  
  
She stopped mid-sentence when Snape actually laughed, a loud chuckle that seemed out of place emerging from his thin mouth. “You’re still the same in some ways, Hermione. Don’t worry, Paris will still be there at the end of the weekend.”  
  
The changes in his demeanor were suddenly too much, and Hermione asked, “Are you  _really_  Severus Snape?” She glared angrily at her former professor, wondering if it was even him. Maybe it was Ron playing a bad joke on her? Trying to get her back for leaving him? “You certainly aren’t acting like the mean, spiteful Professor Snape I know.” She crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair, waiting for his answer.  
  
“You said you’ve changed since the war — so have I. Quite frankly, I hadn’t expected to live, and having a second chance has also changed me.”  
  


*     *     *

  
  
When Hermione came down the stairs on Sunday morning, she saw that Snape was already in his armchair reading  _The Daily Prophet._  His customary sneer was back in place instead of the friendlier smirk he’d displayed yesterday.  
  
“Your wand is on the table,” he said, nodding his head towards the low table in front of the threadbare sofa. Hermione picked it up and felt a familiar, comforting warmth when her fingertips touched the vine wood. “I imagine you’ll be departing now?”  
  
She shrugged and glanced around the room to avoid answering. Compared to her first day here, when she had considered it dark and gloomy, the room now felt brighter, even welcoming. She and Snape had spent all of yesterday here, discussing books and politics and magical theories, and Hermione couldn’t remember a more pleasant weekend, once she got past the fact that she hadn’t wanted to be here originally.  
  
Snape — no,  _Severus_ — was still rough around the edges, and more traits of the Professor Snape she had known at Hogwarts had shown themselves over the weekend, but overall he was a somewhat different man. The lifting of the immense burden he had lived under for decades had wrought changes in him, as had his second chance at life, and Hermione had been surprised to find she actually enjoyed spending time with him.  
  
“Y-yes,” Hermione said, suddenly realizing she wasn’t exactly eager to leave. “My trip,” she continued, waving her wand absently, “I shouldn’t miss anymore of my travel schedule.”  
  
Severus nodded, and his hair fell forward to shield his face. “My apologies for inconveniencing you so.”  
  
“Severus!” Hermione snapped, shocking both of them with the force in her tone. “You — you may not have taken the best approach, but I  _did_  enjoy this weekend,” she admitted. “Next time—”  
  
“Next time?” Snape asked, his eyebrows rising in disbelief. “I didn’t think there would be a next time.”  
  
“Ask me properly, and there might be.” Hermione started to turn on her heel to Disapparate. “You’re not the only one who gets lonely,” she said softly, and disappeared.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I know this is somewhat out of character for Snape. I was originally working off the idea that his personality could change after his near-death experience. 
> 
> This fic was originally written in November 2010.
> 
> Come visit me on [tumblr!](http://galacticcoyote.tumblr.com/)


End file.
